My Echo, My Shadow and Me
by DDG
Summary: He is exactly what they made him to be, and he hates it. *Charon; future Charon/Lone Wanderer*
1. With Plenty of Money and You

**My Echo, My Shadow and Me**

1: With Plenty of Money and You

_Well, baby, what I couldn't do  
With plenty of money and you.  
In spite of the worry that money brings.  
Just a little filthy looker buys a lot of things._

The moment the so-called "Lone Wanderer" had a hold of that condemning slip of wrinkled and worn paper, Charon felt a fire in his gut. His fingers tingled and his back itched where his combat shotgun chafed against his armor.

"I'll give you the pleasure of informing him yourself."

Charon certainly wasn't deaf, but his now-former employer was a bastard enough to pretend that was the case. At least he had the intelligence to realize the contempt Charon held for him.

Even from the corner, Charon could see the self-satisfied smirk on Ahzrukhal's face—a well-earned 2,000 caps, it would appear. Disgust mingled with the fire now raging through Charon, but not for his own self; rather for those who had decidedly made him who he was, through no consent of his own (as if he would have consented, of course). Brainwashing, Ahzrukhal claimed. Charon wasn't always sure himself, but whatever it was, that tiny slip of paper (oh, how he longed to _burn it_) held his fate—in fact, had held it for the last one hundred years.

Charon had heard everything that had transpired between the two, but as the Lone Wanderer approached, he made the decision to play dumb—for Ahzrukhal's sake.

"Talk to—"

The Lone Wanderer was quick with her response. Shaking her head, she said, "Slow down, there. I have good news." She glanced at the faded sheet of paper in her hands, before looking Charon straight in the eye, a smile on her face but a hardened look enveloping her eyes. "I'm your new employer."

Hearing it face-to-face as opposed to through eavesdropping was profoundly different, Charon found out, as he fought the relief attempting to force its way into his voice. Instead, he focused on the deed yet to be done, and the grim satisfaction he could already taste.

"You purchased my contract from Ahzrukhal?" Charon glanced in Ahzrukhal's direction, but the Ghoul was busy serving a drink to a patron. Before him, the Lone Wanderer nodded with finality. More to himself, Charon stated, "So, I am no longer in his service." Even more profound than hearing it face-to-face was hearing it from his own lips (or what was left of them, anyway). Now that he had, and having heard the facts stated three times now, it had truly sunk in. Ahzrukhal had held his contract for so long, Charon had been sure he would die before Ahzrukhal relinquished it.

Free from tyranny. Free from an unruly bastard who deserved to die—by none other than the man whom had grudgingly guarded him for the past twenty-some years.

Which he would. Soon, in fact. Very soon.

"Please, wait here." Charon could feel his shotgun digging against his armor again and his hands shook with anticipation. "I must take care of something."

The Lone Wanderer tilted her head, almost curiously, but Charon wasn't stupid, and he knew the Lone Wanderer was just as anxious as he was. Someone had given her inside info on the wretched Ghoul, and she wanted him just as dead as Charon did.

Charon almost smiled, but the act was so unfamiliar to his face that he was afraid his muscles would refuse to form one at all. He opted instead for the blank look he typically reserved for dealing with Ahzrukhal, and approached the man, fingers twitching.

"Ahzrukhal," he began. The Ghoul turned to him, a fake smile plastered on. Charon continued, unabated. "I am told that I am no longer in your service."

The fake smile continued. Could the man honestly be so _daft_? "That's right, Charon," said Ahzrukhal. He placed a glass he had been cleaning down on the counter beside him, and the fake smile turned to a smug smirk. "Have you come to say goodbye?"

Something like that.

In one fluid motion, Charon grabbed the shotgun from his back, flicked the safety, aimed (not that there was much aiming to do, at this range) and fired. Bits of Ahzrukhal's mid-section spattered across Charon's front, and behind the bar. On the ground, laying and gurgling in a pool of his own blood and innards, Ahzrukhal still managed to give Charon that damn smug look.

Charon blew that smug look straight off his face.

*

Charon dipped down next to Ahzrukhal and nearly gave him another shot of lead, but refrained. He dug through the dead Ghoul's belongings, just under the counter, and retrieved a swollen bag before standing and turning to his new employer.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go." He extended his hand to the Lone Wanderer, the bag held loosely between two of his fingers while his other hand was occupied reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor. After the short-lived look of confusion had left her face, the Lone Wanderer accepted the return of her 2,000 caps.

"What the fuck was _that_?"

Both Charon and the Lone Wanderer stared in the direction of the voice, but only Charon looked away after a moment, to eye the rest of the crowd that had gathered. The girl, on the other hand, seemed oddly pleased and kept her gaze focused upon the man who had spoken. Perhaps she'd had other business here in Underworld, Charon mused and again flicked his gaze back to the girl and the Ghoul.

She and the Ghoul were now having an avid discussion and moving back into the next room to continue speaking. Charon followed the Lone Wanderer dutifully and took his place behind her as she sat across from the scandalous Mister Crowley.

"...I've got this list of people. Ghoul bigots. Real scum," Crowley was saying. Charon watched with amusement. He wondered if the Lone Wanderer knew what Crowley was really up to with these "Ghoul bigots." From the way she'd clearly known about Ahzrukhal, he suspected she did and was in it for whatever Crowley wanted.

Charon had listened to Ahzrukhal drone on about the money he and Crowley could make if they sold whatever it was Crowley was seeking access to, while Crowley continually stated he wanted it for himself and didn't need Ahzrukhal's help. Of course, in further attempts to persuade the stubborn Ghoul, Ahzrukhal would bring up Charon, mentioning how he could simply order Charon to go and retrieve it, with no danger involved for either Crowley or Ahzrukhal.

Charon, duty-bound, would have done it, but he wouldn't have been happy about it by any means. He had never enjoyed being an errand boy for any of his employers. Bouncer for the Ninth Circle and personal bodyguard for Ahzrukhal weren't necessarily his preferred positions either. Charon would much rather be out in the wastes, killing raiders and mutants side-by-side with his employer. He had never considered himself to be a sedentary sort of person.

But now, with the Lone Wanderer as his employer, he was hopeful that his job would be different. Listening to Galaxy News Radio broadcasts had brought word of her activities and accomplishments, and from the sounds of it, she was always out fighting, fighting, fighting. Doing the right thing, in most instances, but still fighting.

Already antsy, Charon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He'd been standing in that corner for far too long. He was ready to see the Wastes again.

"Bring me back a key or a ring or something." Sneaky bastard.

Crowley stood and shook hands with the Lone Wanderer before departing for his room over at Carol's Place. Then, the Lone Wanderer did something completely unexpected.

"Charon," she said, "sit down, would you? You're making me uncomfortable, and I'd much rather see your face while we're talking."

Stunned, Charon did as she asked, taking Crowley's vacated seat.

Furrowing her brow, the Lone Wanderer said, "You seem...surprised." Her fingers drummed the table absently. Deep in thought, but still interested in holding a conversation. How strange.

"I am," Charon simply said. "Ahzrukhal would have died before allowing me to sit with him, as if I were his equal. Or, allow his worthless back to remain unguarded for even a moment."

The Lone Wanderer chuckled. "Honestly, I much prefer my front." She smiled, before looking grim. "But seriously, Charon—you watch my back, and I'll watch yours. I'm not looking for a bodyguard, I'm looking for a companion who is capable of both watching my ass _and_ keeping me company." She paused, her fingers stilling as well. "Are you up to it?"

"I was up to it the moment you purchased my contract."

"Charon." That hard look Charon had noticed earlier returned to her normally warm eyes. "I'm asking _you_. I'm not asking for further explanation as to what my owning your contract means."

Charon was silent. An employer asking _him_ what he wanted? A first. Normally the contracts he made were far from mutual agreements. In fact, the thought made him almost uneasy.

"Yes," he finally said, though with little conviction. "I will do my best to provide you with my support and company."

She nodded. "Good. Now let's get the hell out of here already. I'm not so sure everyone's pleased you murdered their bartender and chems supplier."

A quick glance around the bar confirmed the Lone Wanderer's observation. Charon stood from his seat, and stepped aside to allow the Lone Wanderer to pass before him. As they exited the Ninth Circle together, she looked back at him and asked, "How's Megaton sound to you right about now?"

Charon grunted. "Never been." He dug between a space in his armor and scratched where the leather was chafing. His fingers came back out with small bits of mottled skin beneath the hardened nails, and he made an irritable noise. Longevity was _not_ worth having skin fall off at every opportunity it got, even if it did (mostly) heal back up by the next day, it was still patchy and loose as ever—and hell, other Ghouls weren't even lucky enough to have their skin heal. Charon was "lucky": his cellular mutations had awarded him with a relatively long lifespan (he probably had a good hundred more years yet, if he was to guess) and relatively "normal" healing (as compared to smoothskins). Sure, he was still missing large parts of his skin, but at least what was left (and what was exposed) healed up nicely.

Lucky being a rather optimistic term, when one considered the circumstances behind his transformation into a Ghoul. But maybe those circumstances had made him _different_ than other Ghouls, as opposed to lucky. Hell if he knew, and hell if he cared, at any rate.

At the thought of the circumstances behind his Ghoulification, a glower formed on his face. Nothing unusual to the other Underworld residents, of course, nor to himself.

But he hoped that, some day soon, the Lone Wanderer would change that. Whether it be by helping him get back at the assholes behind how he was today, or through other means, it was all he was silently asking of her. To give him hope, for the first time in a long time.

*

When he and the Lone Wanderer (_Kate_, he reminded himself. She'd said her name was _Kate_.) arrived at Moriarty's Saloon, Charon wasn't expecting to see another Ghoul. As Kate was sidling onto a barstool in front of the Ghoul, Charon stood just behind her at a distance he deemed close, but not too uncomfortable. After twenty years of bouncing, he wasn't going to let his guard down in a bar by taking a seat—and especially not a bar where the looks he was getting from the patrons were less than favorable. He imagined the Ghoul tending the bar was probably not working here by choice. It was either that, or the idiot was masochistic.

"So, Gob," Kate started, waving him off when he offered her a drink, "what've you got for me today?" She was all smiles and big, bright eyes. Charon wanted to chuckle, thinking the girl probably had no idea just what one little smile could do to a man, and a Ghoul doubly so.

The name clicked into place in Charon's head. Gob was that "son" Carol was always talking about (when Greta wasn't around, of course). Poor bastard didn't seem to be as well off for himself as he probably thought he'd be.

Gob took a long look around the bar before saying, "A couple of stimpaks and some Rad Away." He stiffened as a door slammed upstairs. "Usual price?" The Ghoul had a huge smile on his face as he talked and Charon wondered just how huge of a crush he had on Kate, probably the only human in town who treated him right.

Kate nodded and set a bag of caps on the counter. With one final look almost directly behind him, Gob dipped and reached under the counter, coming back up with a handful of stimpaks and a packet of Rad Away. As Kate packed away the items into a number of easy access pouches lining her waist, Gob pocketed his payment and immediately moved to refill some sorry-looking man's drink. The creaky sound of a door opening in the back captured Charon's attention momentarily as a white-haired man stepped behind the counter.

Charon watched the white-haired man idly. Moriarty, he concluded, after the man approached the register and punched in the combination to open it. Moriarty sifted through the register's contents quickly before slamming the drawer shut and making his way over to where Gob was refilling drinks. A sudden movement sent Gob to the floor with pleas for Moriarty not to hit him again, while Moriarty demanded to know why the till was short.

Gob's pleas sent a sharp pain through Charon, and he felt an emotion he hadn't felt in years: shame. Charon remembered Gob. He remembered him very well, as he remembered everyone from that period in his life. As much as he wished he could forget what he'd done (been _forced_ to do, he corrected), he couldn't. It hurt, thinking of it again, and he cursed his creators for failing to program emotions out of him. It would have made things a whole lot easier for him over the years. Instead, the best they'd done was put a metaphorical lock on his emotions: he felt (holy hell, did he feel sometimes), he just didn't show it.

He heard Kate sigh. "Poor Gob," she murmured. "No matter how hard he tries, Moriarty just finds a way to take what few spare caps he has." Charon swallowed. He wanted to leave. Right fucking now, before Gob got a better look at him. He felt guilt-ridden enough.

But Kate was ordering two purified waters and Charon wasn't about to express his eagerness to leave. It would lead to too many questions that Charon wasn't willing to answer; questions that he knew, with one simple command, he would _have_ to answer, whether he liked it or not.

Gob's hands trembled as he set the two water bottles down in front of Kate. Charon turned around but he could feel the other Ghoul's eyes burning two deep holes into his back.

"Who's your friend?" Gob rasped.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Gob," Kate said, sincere apology in her voice. "I should have introduced you earlier. This is Charon." She turned her head to look at him, then tugged on his arm. "Don't be a sourpuss, Charon," she teased. "Sit down and say hello."

"If that is what you command, then I shall do it," Charon instinctively said. "However, I feel that I may fail to provide you support from such a position."

"Fuck the support. No one's going to mess with me here, Charon. So relax. Sit down and talk with us for awhile." Kate's voice was firm and unwavering. Charon obeyed her immediately. If she felt she did not require support at this moment, so be it; he would provide her the "company" she'd previously asked of him. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Charon took great care to open the water bottle Kate had purchased for him. Anything to keep his face from Gob. He'd stare at the counter all night if he had to (and oh, how the thought of sitting all night in this hellhole and avoiding the gaze of a Ghoul who certainly loathed him irked him).

Again, Charon could feel Gob's gaze burning straight through him. Hearing Charon's name had more than likely been enough to spark Gob's memory, but Charon didn't want to see the hate in the Ghoul's face. He'd seen it enough. There were still Ghouls who thought of him as a worthless scourge, even after knowing there had been nothing he could do.

Thankfully, Kate kept Gob's interest enough of the time that Charon was free from scrutiny. An hour passed, and patrons, one after another, had been filing out, until it was only himself, Kate and Gob left. Moriarty had gone upstairs long ago, and the whore in the corner had gone up as well, with a man trailing resolutely after her. Charon longed to leave. It was obviously closing time, and certainly Gob had duties yet to attend to.

But Kate was persistent in getting Charon engaged in conversation. She'd been trying (to little avail) over the past few days to get him to speak outside of warnings and tactical appraisals as they'd traveled to Megaton, but Charon was keeping his mouth shut. The problem was that Kate wasn't getting the picture that he wasn't interested in talking. It'd been almost ingrained into him after all these years, that his employers simply didn't give a mole rat's ass about what he had to say, or whether he had anything to say at all. But the girl was stubborn as hell, and Charon wondered was when she was going to give up and outright order him to speak his mind.

"Where'd you and Charon meet, anyway?" Gob was asking. Charon was focusing intently on the nearly empty bottle in front of him, pretending to read the well-worn label.

Kate took a final swig from her own bottle. "Underworld," she said. "I bought his contract from some lousy scumbag of a Ghoul down there."

Charon watched the Ghoul from the corner of his eye. He didn't like where this conversation was headed. It was time to derail it, before it got out of hand.

"Miss Kate," Charon began.

"Please, Charon—just Kate."

"Kate," he amended, "may I suggest that we depart for lodgings? You're looking as if you need your rest. It has been a long day."

Kate nodded, agreeing, and stifled a yawn. "Charon's right. I'm dead tired." She stood and stretched, before turning back to Gob. "I'll stop by before we leave tomorrow morning."

"I-I'd like that," Gob stammered, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Charon took Gob's momentary distraction to stand himself, but the Ghoul's peripheral vision was sharp.

The two locked eyes and Charon knew he deserved the look of cold loathing he received.

Charon had done many terrible things in his life, but none had yet to beat what he'd put Gob and countless other Ghouls through. What many of them were probably still going through, if Gob's situation was any example. He deserved their hate. He always would.

Maybe one day he would forgive himself, for having been stupid enough to fall into this life.

Maybe.

* * *

**Notes:**

(1) I hated giving the Lone Wanderer a name, but I didn't want to call her the "Lone Wanderer" throughout the entire fic. Therefore, she is henceforth "Kate."

(2) "Kate" is a reference to Hecate, a fellow psychopomp (a spirit, angel or deity whose responsibility is to guide newly-deceased souls to the afterlife) to Charon. However, this is only a superficial reference, as the -cate in Hecate isn't pronounced anything like Kate. Also, "Kate" after "Catherine." (Yes, I will admit that I didn't make this connection until _after_ the Hecate thing.)

(3) Fic title and summary, and chapter title and lyrics are from The Ink Spots songs of the same names: "We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)" and "With Plenty of Money and You."

(4) I'm trying to keep Charon as in-character as possible, but still give him depth. Considering so little is actually revealed about him in-game, I think I'm allowed a little leeway. :P

(5) And yes, I _did_ do extensive research on Charon by interrogating Ahzrukhal over and over again (loading saves when I had to) until I had copied down every single bit of information regarding Charon and the purchase of his contract. Don't judge me! XD

(6) 02/02/09: Thank you to Haisley for the beta. Chapter one has now been edited and reposted.


	2. Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

**My Echo, My Shadow and Me  
**2: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

_Into each life some rain must fall  
__But too much is falling in mine  
__Into each heart some tears must fall  
But some day the sun will shine_

It was a relatively cold night for the arid Wasteland but Charon hardly felt it. He was distracted with his own thoughts and just barely straggling behind Kate as she led him to wherever it was they were staying for the night. Charon hoped it wasn't the common house, easily spotted at the far northwestern corner of Megaton; he didn't appreciate being under the scrutiny of anyone, even if he could care less what they actually thought of him.

Kate was leading him in the opposite direction, however. He followed, quietly, an eye still out for danger. No place was safe in the Wastes, even a settled and halfway-civilized one; Charon wasn't about to let his guard down and allow either Kate or himself to be injured. He would be failing in his duty—and in his line of "work," failure meant death, or worse. He had never failed any of his previous employers (no matter how much hatred he held for them) and he wasn't about to start now, with the only one who had ever treated him as a fellow human being. Despite her unrelenting attempts to get him to "open up," as she had put it, he would be upset to lose her as an employer, and she would be the only one he'd _ever_ felt that way about. She was leaps and bounds better than Charon's previous few employers, after all.

The girl had a good set of eyes and ears on her, though Charon couldn't help but curse at her occasional naivety. She still had a lot to learn, but at least she knew her way around a gun. She wasn't a crack shot (not yet, anyway), but she held her own. It was, he figured, the only reason she was still alive, nearly two months after Three Dog had started his weekly reports on her—after her escape from that Vault. He wondered if she realized that herself and whether it had influenced her purchase of his contract, besides knowledge of Ahzrukhal's misdeeds and Charon's hatred of him. A simple knowledge of human behavior was all the girl seemed to need at this point in her "journey."

Charon chewed on the thoughts for a little while, thankful he'd managed to push his rage and shame to the back corners of his mind, as Kate continued to lead him around the winding paths of Megaton's walkways.

Moments later, Kate had pulled out a large key and was shoving it into the lock of a rickety-looking shack they'd stopped in front of—her house, he quickly assumed. He followed her dutifully inside and immediately searched for lurking threats.

"Good evening, Madam!"

Charon whirled at the sound, his shotgun raised at the Mister Handy that had floated down the stairs. The damned thing didn't seem hostile, but Charon wasn't taking any chances.

"Miss Kate, I have detected a possible threat in your household." He gripped his shotgun harder, ready to blast the robot to pieces.

"Stand down, Charon," Kate said, amusement tinging her voice. "It's just Wadsworth. He's no threat."

Charon complied, though reluctantly, and with an eye on the robot as he put away his shotgun. All someone had to do was remove the Mister Handy's combat inhibitor and it would go on a rampage. He would have to keep a close watch at all times, to prevent such a catastrophe, just as he had in Underworld with Cerberus (whenever Charon hadn't been stuck in The Ninth Circle, of course). Strangely, though most of the residents had felt a certain _distaste_ for him, Charon felt compelled to protect them and the sanctity of what most Ghouls called home. In recent years, he'd chalked it up to his own feeble attempt at apologizing (the problem being that he wasn't sure how many Ghouls had accepted it).

Sitting in a chair nearby, Kate was stripping off her battered leather armor. Charon stood quietly near what appeared to be the kitchen, awaiting further instruction.

"What's the story between you and Gob?" she questioned, looking over at him as she untied her boots. "I couldn't help but notice the, ah...tension."

Charon was quiet. Kate continued staring at him for a few moments longer, before shrugging and dropping the subject, much to Charon's surprise. Any other employer would have pushed, ordering Charon to tell them, but Kate continued to distance herself from the norm of those who'd come before her. It was refreshing. To be the sole master of his thoughts was extremely welcome.

"Well," Kate stood, her armor piled in her arms and she now only dressed in a skin-tight t-shirt and shorts, "the bedroom's upstairs. If you want," she shifted her weight, almost uncomfortably, "you can sleep in my bed. I'm willing to give it up, or even share it, if you'd prefer. I know it gets a little chilly in here sometimes..."

Again, Charon was quiet. As much as the thought of sleeping next to an attractive woman was appealing to the man in him, the professional in him kept him quiet. He wondered whether her offer was one of pity, or if she truly was that generous and hospitable of a person. How she could continue (and had survived) in the Wastes with such an attitude was beyond him—but a small part of him hoped that the Wastes would never beat it out of her. He was surprised enough that it hadn't already.

Or maybe she just got cold at night. Who was to say?

Kate continued on at Charon's lack of response, perhaps realizing she had tread on thin ice, though not understanding what the problem was (he wondered if she'd gotten a good whiff of him yet, in all honesty—Ghouls weren't exactly the most pleasant-smelling bed companions). "Or, there's a couch in the spare room upstairs that you can sleep on, if you'd prefer."

He certainly would prefer, in this case. He didn't want to disgust the girl _too_ soon, after all. He nodded at Kate, informing her of his decision, and followed her up the stairs (skirting around "Wadsworth" with a wary eye). Kate opened the door to the spare room and mumbled something about wanting to get an early start tomorrow morning, before stumbling into her own room, dropping her gear haphazardly on the desk and slumping into her bed. Charon, watching the scene with slight humor, knew she was already asleep. He made a note to have the girl slow down when they were out in the Wastes—she'd worn herself out on their two-day trip from Underworld to Megaton. It would do them no good if she continued with such a pace. Longer travel time was a welcome price to pay for increased stamina and awareness.

Charon stepped into the spare room and settled down on the couch, his shotgun held firmly in his hands and his eyes on the rest of the house. Kate might trust her robot, but he certainly didn't.

*

He slept for perhaps two hours, total. "Wadsworth" (or as Charon had taken to calling him, "That Catastrophe Waiting to Happen") had spent most of the night moving between the upstairs and downstairs, cleaning, and Charon had slept lightly. Every time That Catastrophe had headed upstairs, the sound of its propulsion system had Charon's eyelids open and his grip tightening around his shotgun. He would watch the robot carefully through the doorway until it finished its routine and headed back downstairs. Then, Charon would fall back into a doze, his mind silent and resting, but his body anxiously waiting until the damned robot came back up.

At some point, the robot finally stopped, its routine over with, and Charon fell into a slightly deeper slumber knowing it would remain downstairs during the daytime hours. Pre-programmed to clean during the house's occupants sleeping hours and to stay out of the way while they were awake... until someone came in and tampered with it, and Charon didn't trust anyone in Megaton to refrain from doing so.

Then again, none of them probably had the brains to do it anyway. They _had_ built their town around an atomic bomb, after all.

Regardless, he slept deeper, knowing he would still awaken at the slightest disturbance in the house.

Which he did, minutes later, as Kate got up and padded past the open doorway, her blanket wrapped firmly around her. Charon vacated the couch, standing and stretching, before reattaching his shotgun to the back of his armor and heading downstairs after her.

She was already in the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the shelves in search of something decent to eat.

"What do you want to eat, Charon?" She eyed a box of Cram suspiciously, holding it an arms length away, before tossing it into the garbage can nearby. "I may not have much, but I can accommodate nearly any preference you've got..."

She sounded tired. Charon wondered whether it was a good idea to let her cook.

Deciding it was _not_ a good idea, he wordlessly sidled next to her and took the box of food from her hands. He set it back on the shelf before gently guiding her to the nearest chair and moving back into the kitchen. Knowing they probably would not return to her home for many weeks, Charon picked the most perishable items off her shelves to cook up. The robot probably threw out rotten food and restocked the house weekly, but there was no point to letting perfectly good food go to waste.

While Charon set to work cooking a couple of Salisbury steaks and eggs, Kate wrapped her blanket tighter around her and pulled her legs up and into her chest. Charon felt something like relief flood him as he struck "pity" off the list of reasons for her offer last night. Clearly, the girl did not tolerate cold well. It was a good thing the Wasteland did not suffer "winter," as it had before the bombs—Kate would probably die (figuratively, of course).

Kate picked up a nearby book and leafed through it. Charon watched her momentarily before checking whether she had any fruit or vegetables stocked in her fridge. He would prefer to give her a well-rounded meal, but such a concept was hard to come by in the Wastes. Hell, he'd grown up eating mole rat and dog meat, for the most part, with the occasional "treat" of Mirelurk meat. He didn't even learn what a vegetable or a fruit was until he was fifteen, and it had been years since he'd had one that didn't taste like irradiated shit.

He found the fridge was stacked full of Sugar Bombs and blood packs. It took awhile for the odd site to register, and it took the sound of the eggs and steaks sizzling to bring him back away from the site. Closing the fridge, he was confused, but felt little desire to ask _why_ such an odd combination of items were packed into her fridge. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer.

He _was_ beginning to question the girl's sanity, however.

As he flipped the eggs, Kate addressed his unasked question, as if suddenly remembering that Charon was new to both her home and her kitchen.

"Oh, uh," she pulled on her graying blanket sheepishly, "don't mind the Sugar Bombs and blood packs in the fridge. I'm...helping out a couple of people."

Charon, though not known for his humor, couldn't help but laugh. "I've had some strange food combinations in my day, but I believe that this is the strangest."

"What...? No!" Kate stammered. "You've got it all wrong, Charon! The Sugar Bombs are for this nice Ghoul scientist of a sort I met in the Northwest Seneca Station, and the blood packs are for...well..."

Busy checking the steaks and then slipping the finished eggs onto plates, Charon didn't bother indicating she should get on with it already.

"...vampires," she finished lamely.

At this, Charon gave the cooking steaks a look. Well, he'd heard of stranger things in the Wastes.

"I see," he mumbled. He added an addendum to his earlier question of the girl's sanity: too damn kind to be even remotely sane. From being the friendliest he'd ever seen a human be toward Ghouls, to donating blood to vampires (he hoped it wasn't her blood, at least, but a smattering of leftover packs still found in the various hospitals around the Wastes), to saving his sorry ass...

Then again, he shouldn't jump the gun. Having an idea of why she'd purchased him wasn't close enough to a sure thing for his tastes. Besides her need for a companion to aid her, he had little idea about her motives, and he wasn't going to allow himself to make hasty assumptions. Besides, where was his pride? He was self-sufficient—he didn't need anyone to save his ass when he could do it himself. The only reason he hadn't snuffed Ahzrukhal before Kate had purchased his contract was due to the fact that the Ghoul had never _gone_ anywhere, making it increasingly difficult to come up with loophole ways to murder the bastard.

Charon grabbed a fork and lifted the finished steaks out of the pan. Tossing a knife and fork onto each plate, he grabbed one, turned to face the living area, and proffered it to Kate. She dropped the book she'd been skimming onto the shelf beside her and gratefully took the plate.

"Thank you, Charon," she said, giving him a warm smile before digging right into the eggs. She wasn't used to be waited on, it would seem.

Charon took his own plate and retreated to the other chair in the room. He ate quickly, hardly acknowledging the slight tingle of radiation in the food on his tongue, while watching Kate pick her own, slow way through her own breakfast. The first few bites from her steak brought a sour look to her face, but she continued eating.

"Charon," she started, chewing thoughtfully on a particularly tough piece of the meat, "it's unnerving how quiet you are. You should talk more."

As if to prove her point, he remained silent. Even if he did speak his opinion, Kate would hardly like what Charon had to say. "Always the pessimist," the saying went, and Kate was, quite obviously, an optimist.

"I mean, really, Charon," she continued, undeterred, "I'm sure you've got the most fascinating opinions, having been around for so long and all. And I'm guessing no one's ever really asked them of you before,"—she had guessed correctly—"so,"—and here was the punchline (because at this point, her request was little more than a joke to the stoic Charon)—"lay 'em on me. I'd love to hear them."

Silence, still. He wasn't going to give in easily. Despite previous employers feeling no desire to hear Charon's opinions, he had always been one of those types who normally kept to himself anyway.

Kate, ever the curious one, while not always talking, was always thinking and never afraid to voice her opinion, or to push and prod where necessary in order to get the information she needed. She had a gift with words, and she wasn't afraid to use it.

Despite his obstinance, Charon knew it would take only one command and he would spill his guts to her. But Kate was clearly stubborn, and refused to resort to such a tactic. Charon knew, however, that he would eventually give in to her request.

After all, it had been a very long time since he'd been allowed his freedom of speech. He was ready to take advantage of a good thing.

*

"Hey, Charon," Kate called. Charon turned from his self-established post by the door to see Kate pulling at the straps on her armor, securing it in place. She gestured to a book on the table beside her. "I've got to go up to Moira's and get some supplies. Could you do me a favor and give this to Gob? I'd do it myself, but I'm afraid we won't have time..."

Charon walked over and scooped up the book. It was a hardcover, well-worn and dirty. Inside, the pages were stained a deep yellow and the ink was faded, though still readable. Since books had not fared well after the bombs, Charon had read very few during his youth. He'd been taught to read and write by his father, but had found very little use for the actions throughout the majority of his life. Most of his employers preferred to assume he was illiterate anyway, or didn't know either way. Reading and writing simply were not the most important skills anymore—they had been replaced in importance by the ability to kill.

Kill, or be killed. The words were all too familiar to Charon and they brought a sour taste to his mouth every time he heard the utterance.

Without a word, Charon left Kate's home and reluctantly trekked over to Moriarty's. This early in the morning, no one but the crazy down by the nuke (Charon was surprised he hadn't turned Ghoul yet, though all of the telltale signs were there) and the shopkeepers were up, and Megaton was near silent, bar the howling Wasteland winds whipping against the town walls. Considering the time, Charon was not surprised to find only Gob up and about in Moriarty's, setting up the bar for the day's patrons.

By the look of pure and absolute hatred on Gob's face, Charon was not a welcome customer.

"Off your leash?" Gob remarked in a tone clearly labeled "For Charon _Only_."

It stung, but Charon brushed it off. He'd heard worse over the past twenty years. "I am on an errand."

"Unless it's for Kate," Gob scowled, fingers tightening around a cloudy glass he'd been wiping down before Charon's arrival, "I have nothing for you."

Charon shook his head. "Perhaps I spoke incorrectly," he said. "I am here to deliver a package from Miss Kate to you. However," he raised what was left of his eyebrows and shrugged, "if you do not wish to receive it, then I shall leave and inform Miss Kate at once."

Gob scoffed. "What is it?"

Charon moved a few steps closer to the bar and held out the book to Gob. The sullen Ghoul snatched it from Charon's fingers and flipped open the cover to find out what the book was. A smile crossed his face a moment later.

The perfect opportunity was at hand, Charon knew, but his throat was suddenly constricted and his mind a jumbled mix of emotions, thoughts and who knew what else. The words he'd been wanting to say for years began to form, before blowing back into the mess they'd come from. He opened his mouth, in hopes the words would return, but they never did, and he managed an "I'm..." before Gob gave Charon a funny look and returned to glowering.

Forgive and forget, right? How was Charon supposed to forget if no one would forgive? His past hung like a dark cloud over him, and it was days like this that the cloud poured rain upon him—drenching him to the bone. For twenty years Charon had been waiting for one little break in the clouds as a sign that someone had finally forgiven him for his despicable transgressions. But as more time passed, he feared the day would never come, and that the dark cloud would haunt him until the end of his days. It didn't matter how sorry he felt, how hard he worked to make it all up to his fellow Ghouls when he couldn't even _say_, "I'm sorry." He'd begun to wonder if the words were even in his vocabulary anymore—whether his programming allowed him to say "sorry."

"Go and take care of Kate," Gob said, "like you're supposed to."

Charon turned to leave, his job done, but he paused at the door as Gob began murmuring behind him:

"The day that I am free from Moriarty's rule will be the day that I consider forgiveness."

With the way things were going for Gob, Charon understood that he would never be forgiven.

**

* * *

Notes:**  
(1) I've been busy with school and being sick, so this chapter took longer to finish than I'd wanted it to. But, the good thing is, it's done now.

(2) Gob and Charon still don't get along. Sorry, guys.

(3) I warn you now that I've never been good at keeping a regular update schedule. However, I'll shoot for a new chapter every two weeks. If it seems like I'm taking forever, feel free to bother me until I get it done.

(4) Chapter title and lyrics from the song of the same name by The Ink Spots.

(5) 02/03/09: Thank you to Haisley for the beta. Chapter two has now been edited and reposted.


	3. Little Small Town Girl

**My Echo, My Shadow and Me  
**3: Little Small Town Girl

_Am I just a small town girl  
__With big town dreams  
__That won't come true?  
__Thinking everything that means anything to me  
Means something to you, too?_

The Super Duper Mart was a one-story building decorated with the usual raider ornaments—mutilated bodies, blood-stained bones, decapitated heads, and all strung up with metal wire and hooks. Glancing at Kate, Charon wondered how much contact she'd had with raiders so far.

"Miss Kate," Charon whispered, "We will, in all likelihood, encounter many raiders inside. Are you prepared?"

Kate nodded, though with great hesitance, and slipped her 10mm pistol from its holster on her hip.

Charon scrutinized Kate. "You have killed before, haven't you?"

The girl looked away, and Charon frowned.

"Of—Of course I have, Charon. Don't be silly." Her voice wavered and Charon saw her hands shaking. She hadn't killed a human in her life.

Well, she was going to get a good lesson about the Wastes. It wasn't all mole rats and Super Mutants—there were people too. Horrible, evil people that could not be reasoned with, no matter how slick someone thought they were. Violence was the _only_ suitable answer for dealing with them.

Kate gave Charon a sidelong glance, then stared at the ground, sheepish. "Charon," she said, "could you please take point?"

Stubborn girl. She'd never simply admit that she had, as of yet, had yet to kill another human being with her own hands. She had damn near orchestrated Ahzrukhal's death, but she balked when it came time for her hands to get dirty. Typical first-timer fear. Eventually, she'd get over it and dispatch enemies without the slightest hesitance. At this point, however, Charon expected few kills and _a lot_ of throwing up.

Charon didn't blame her for delegating him as point man—how could he? He could sense her terror from a mile away—she knew this was the point where she could no longer avoid it, but that didn't mean she was ready to throw herself right into the thick of it all. She wanted to live a little while longer yet, and having the more experienced of the two of them take point was the smartest move to ensure that.

To be completely honest, he wondered how she'd managed to avoid murdering other humans so far. Had the D.C. ruins truly become so overrun with Super Mutants that there were no humans inhabiting the area?

"As you command, Miss." Charon unslung the shotgun from his back and leveled it at the door.

Kate copied Charon, her 10mm pistol aimed high, though her hands continued to shake.

"And Charon," she continued, "please be careful."

Charon nodded in response. Her words were unnecessary—he already knew quite well she would never wish death upon him (or anyone, for that matter), nor send him in as point if she thought he would perish. Kate was not the sort of person to sacrifice another in her place if Three Dog's rambling broadcasts were to be believed. And, she was confident in his abilities to keep her safe, that much was clear, even after only a few days of traveling together. It was clear in the way she huddled close behind him and copied his every action. It was clear in the way her shoulders seemed to relax a little, knowing she wasn't alone in this, that she had him to depend on. Mostly, though, it was clear by the sheer fact that she had purchased his contract. If she'd had no faith in his abilities, she would have never bothered. He was, first and foremost, her faithful bodyguard and companion—killing Ahzrukhal had simply been a bonus.

In unison, they sidled along the outside wall of the derelict grocery store, carefully stepping over piles of broken glass and rusted tin cans. Near the door, Charon gently pushed an old shopping cart away, its wheels screeching noisily. Kate was close enough behind him that Charon felt her tense up at the noise. Knowing it would bring her some form of comfort, he reached a hand back and brushed her knee, hovering on it for a few moments, before he felt Kate's fingers wrap around his own.

It was Charon's turn to tense. He hadn't exactly invited the girl to latch onto his hand, but if that's what made her feel at ease, so be it. He would allow it so long as it did not interfere with his duty to protect her.

He tugged lightly on her fingers, indicating he was about to move and she should follow. Her grip tightened but he ignored the increasing pressure on his digits. With a light bump from his shoulder, he jostled the right-hand door open silently, then slipped between the door and the metal divider, holding the door open for Kate to enter. Only a moment's hesitation and Kate was crouching in the foyer of the store, Charon right behind her, his back turned as he gripped the door and slid it back into its original, closed position.

Twisting around, Charon placed his hand back on its place, holding the grip of his shotgun. He glanced at Kate, then did a double take.

The girl had some pathetic excuse of a sad and forlorn look on her face as she stared at Charon. Her eyes were wide open, her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

There was a moment as Charon considered ignoring her, but he realized he couldn't. He'd always been a sucker for that hurt puppy dog look.

God help them all if Kate ever discovered the extent of her own sex appeal. Disgruntled, Charon sighed and rolled his eyes before reaching his hand back out to her. She clasped it immediately, a pleased grin lighting up her face, and fell into step behind him. Whatever it took to keep her calm, he supposed, though the closeness she seemed to be insisting upon was making Charon uncomfortable. How long had it been since he'd been this close to, well, anyone? Too long, he decided. His job normally required distance and an uncaring attitude. Kate was systematically _changing_ what his job description was. The girl was hellbent on having Charon open up to her—on having him _care_, and _damn_ if he was thinking she might be worth it, for once.

After all, it wasn't everyday someone was willing to touch him. It also wasn't everyday he willingly let his _employer_ do so.

_Damn her_. He'd promised himself a long time ago that he would never feel this way about anyone again. Promised himself he'd _never care again_, and what the hell was she going and doing?

But all Charon could do was sit and watch as that four-letter word made him feel whole again. The snowball had been sent tumbling down the hill by a naive little Vault girl named Kate, and he was not a strong enough man to step into its path and stop it.

*

They were huddling behind the checkout counter near the front of the store, waiting for the voices of the raiders to fade away as they continued their patrol back to the far end of the store. Shortly after Kate had searched the fridge and shelves on the opposite side of the room for whatever it was that Moira had asked for (whoever "Moira" was—though she was most likely _fucking crazy_ if she honestly thought there would be any edible food left in a well-known raider camp), the sharp laughter of a raider had caught their attention, and Charon had motioned for Kate to stay still. She'd frozen to her place by the fridge (though had the good sense to crouch carefully into its shadow), a frightened look plastered over her face, until the voices of the raider's became steadily louder, and Charon quickly gestured for Kate to book it over to him.

She did—as quickly and quietly as she could manage in her terror. She nearly tripped and collided with a large pile of empty soda cans as she reached Charon, but at the last second he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his arms. Awkwardly, they crouched there behind the counter, Kate pressed tightly against Charon's chest and Charon almost completely oblivious to their current closeness as he listened intently to the raiders.

"I think I'm going to swipe some shit from the fridge..."

The high-pitched laugher from earlier repeated itself. "It's your death wish."

"You really think Rex would kill me over a little fucking food?"

"Hell yes, I do. Fucking crazy asshole."

Charon stiffened and Kate whimpered. Without a word, Charon slipped his hand over Kate's mouth. He glanced down at his shotgun, sitting within quick reach beside him. His plan had been to get in and get out without alerting the bloody-crazy raiders, but it was impossible to hope for anything to go according to plan.

"Well...on second thought..."

"You're such a fucking pussy."

"Hey! Shut the fuck up!" The familiar sounds of a scuffle breaking out reached Charon and he let out a relieved breath, letting his hand fall from Kate's mouth.

She took a deep breath and whispered an apology to him.

Charon took little notice of her words—he was focused on the sheer oddity in his arms. Most smoothskins, by now, would be scrambling away from him, disgusted looks on their faces. Kate seemed almost comfortable, as if nothing at all were strange about the situation—Charon, still holding Kate even though he really could have let her be by now, and Kate, pressed to Charon's chest as if the raiders just outside their hiding place were still a threat.

Which, he supposed, if he was in Kate's shoes, they still would be. Every raider in the Super Duper Mart was a threat to Kate, even if Charon considered them small fry.

"Kate," Charon muttered in her ear, "we should continue searching while they are distracted."

The girl nodded, but didn't make to move from Charon's arms. He sat there with her for a minute longer before finally relaxing his arms and reaching for his shotgun. Kate redrew her pistol and took a leery step away from Charon, perhaps afraid her legs might fail her. Charon could relate to her—he still remembered his first day out hunting with his father, the first time he'd been forced to kill another human being. Afterwards, he hadn't been able to stand or keep down what little was in his stomach.

Killing only got easier after that, of course. There was only one hurdle to jump, and unless everything went according to plan (doubtful), Kate would jump it today. He'd give her the boost she needed to get over it, but ultimately, it was up to her how she landed on the other side. Though whether she tumbled or kept her balance, Charon would be there. He had to be. He almost wanted to be. But _fuck_ if he was ready to care again. Just because someone was smiling at him for once didn't mean he should be falling all over it like he was a Goddamned teenager again.

He now understood exactly how Gob felt. The poor fool.

_Damn her_! Was Charon the fool now, for falling for the exact same things poor Gob had? A sweet smile, some kind words, the feeling that _someone_ cared? But even if he was, did he really care?

He watched as Kate shuffled to the door, trying to take some charge of the situation.

Maybe she was worth it. Who was to say?

Time would tell, and it wasn't as if Charon was lacking in that department.

*

Charon slipped against the opposite side of the doorway, giving Kate a sidelong look as she peeked around the corner.

"What are your orders, Miss Kate?" He shifted his shotgun in his hands, uncomfortable. It was dangerous to continue dallying in the raiders' makeshift kitchen, as the now-brawling raiders had proven. If it was any other situation, he'd say he was "proud" that Kate was taking charge, but the problem was she had yet to prove herself in combat against human enemies. She would hesitate—like she was hesitating now. She was still afraid, too scared to kill. The difference between an "animal" and a human was profound, and Kate was living proof of that fact.

He gave her ten seconds before grunting in displeasure and reaching out to grab her hand and yank her through the doorway. She squeaked, surprised, but it didn't matter—the fighting raiders were causing a loud enough ruckus that they could, for the moment, be as loud as they pleased without being noticed. Charon squeezed Kate's fingers hard, urging her to keep up with him, to move quicker and keep her attention away from the raiders. There was a dim light bulb illuminating the aisle up ahead that they would have to pass under, and he needed her right behind him and then through it, in case there were any raiders skulking about to see them illuminated for that short amount of time.

They stopped at the edge of the light, and Charon turned to Kate. "We must move _quickly _under the light, while those idiots are still fighting," he motioned to the cans, bottles and other various garbage littering the aisle, "and we have a cover of noise on our side. Stick to the shelves—I will be right behind you."

Again, her hesitance shown as she stared at the circle of light ahead of her. Charon growled, his patience growing thin. The girl needed a good lesson in using the surrounding environment to her advantage while it lasted, and Charon was about to teach her, the only way he knew how.

He shoved her and ignored her surprised yelp as she stumbled out of the comforting cover of darkness and into the light. She moved against the shelves in the aisle swiftly, causing a hell of a racket as she kicked up the garbage on the floor but the noise blended with that of the fight. She held her pistol in her quivering hands, though pointed uselessly at the ground, and as soon as she once again reached the darkened section of the aisle, Charon heard her slump down, breathing hard.

As Charon began his hasty trek through the aisle, the moment his foot collided with the massive pile of empty soda cans and bottles, he realized that something was wrong. In his preoccupation making sure Kate made it safely to the other side of darkened aisle, he'd tuned out the more distant sounds of the fight and then focused on the immediate sounds around them. Far too late, he realized that it was now deathly quiet, and he was crashing through a thick jumble of the loudest trash imaginable.

Irony was a bitch.

*

"Hey! Who the fuck is that?"

"Don't ask questions—fucking shoot, stupid!"

Charon ran faster than he'd run in a long time. He paused just long enough to grab Kate by the shoulder and lift her to her feet, telling her to fucking _run_, and to shoot anything that moved. She nodded, held her gun out in front of her and took off down the aisle. Running behind her, his upper body twisted around to watch their ass, his shotgun leveled at approximately chest-level, he hoped the fucking kid was prepared for this, because he definitely _did not_ want a bullet in the ass.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

The voices of the searching raiders were closer now, as they reached the end of the aisle and paused, awkwardly pressed against the shelves.

Kate peeked around the corner (good girl—she was learning) but ducked her head back around just as quickly. A pattering of gunfire erupted over the linoleum tile to her left and Charon let out a chuckle.

"Watch your head," he said and Kate shot him a look.

She scowled. "That's not very funny, Charon."

"Whoever said it was a joke?"

She continued to glower at him as she asked for his tactical appraisal. "What should we do?"

Charon turned to keep his eye on the illuminated end of the aisle. "We need to know what we're up against, first and foremost." He glanced back at Kate momentarily, and nodded to her end of the aisle. "What did you see?"

"Three... no, four raiders. The one that shot at me had a... an... SMG?" Her face burned a deep red. "Is that what it's called?" Was she honestly embarrassed about not being knowledgeable in an area? Charon didn't give a shit whether she knew the difference between an SMG and an assault rifle—as long as she knew how to use them, what did it matter? Too many years locked up in that vault had given her the perception that what mattered in the world was intelligence, and not knowing was taboo—something to be embarrassed about.

He didn't mention it—he wouldn't want to embarrass her further, after all. Even if seeing her all flustered was amusing.

"Yes," he answered. "Were the others unarmed?"

Bravely, she took another peek. No bullets flew toward her head this time, but she still ducked back behind the shelves as quickly as before. "No. The other three all have clubs of some sort. I think one had a pool cue..."

"Good," Charon grunted. "See that room over there?" Kate followed Charon's pointing finger to the small, walled-off area across from them. It was much like the register area they had hidden in earlier, but, with luck, it would provide Kate and himself more cover than the shelves of the aisle would.

Kate nodded, indicating she understood the area he meant.

"Then go!" With a start, Kate was off, scrambling out of the aisle, ducked low and moving fast. As soon as she had left the aisle, Charon whipped out after her, leaning around the cover of the aisle and take aim at the nearest raider. At fifteen yards, one slug from his shotgun knocked the raider back and straight to the ground. Charon hadn't hit a vital organ (not for lack of trying), but the raider wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

The remaining raiders cursed and scattered. Two retreated into an aisle and the third rolled behind an old freezer.

Charon walked carefully across the distance between the aisle and where Kate was currently taking position—ducked down behind the counter, just barely peeking over it with her arms and pistol resting on top. He paused, peering into the darkness, searching for the hidden raiders. There was a slow, careful movement, just off to the left, and he took aim and fired. The raider let out a bloodcurdling scream and Charon grinned. It was too dark to tell where he'd hit, but wherever it was, it had hurt.

Suddenly, to his right, Kate was firing at the raider with the SMG from earlier. Her shots went wild, ricocheting off the floor and far away shelves. The raider was approaching slowly, his SMG raised. He'd wait until he was up close and personal before ripping her to shreds with it.

"Kid!" Charon yelled. "Calm down and _aim_!"

She did. A bullet hit its mark, grazing the raider's exposed thigh. The raider paused, clutching his thigh and wiping away the blood.

"If it helps any," he called, "they're basically animals anyway." Charon wasn't sure whether it helped or not, but Kate's next bullet hit too. It went straight through the raider's shoulder, forcing him to drop his SMG. If she could take down a super mutant with minimal help, a raider was nothing. All that kept her from doing it was the fear of murder—perhaps even the fear of the repercussions, if he took into account her vault experience. Murder would have been a crime in the vault. It was no wonder she was freaked out.

Charon blasted the raider in the chest and he fell, dead.

"One left," Charon announced. "Why don't you come out and fight me?" It was a weak taunt, but a raider came rushing at him anyway, enraged to the point of madness (and probably high on Pyscho). Charon dispatched him without a second thought.

As Charon slipped four new slugs into his shotgun, he turned back to Kate, giving her the once-over. When he was satisfied that she was unharmed, he cocked his shotgun and raised it to his shoulder, preparing to sweep the area.

But a sudden crash behind him and a death cry sent him whirling around—

—and face-to-face with a baseball bat. With a startling _crack_, the bat splintered over his head and sent him tumbling to the ground.

He blinked blood out of his eyes while everything in his vision doubled and attempted to bring his shotgun up to, at the very least, smash across the raider's face, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to figure out which image was the real raider.

The raider pounced on Charon, slamming into his chest and knocking the wind out of him. A fist slammed into his cheek, and he retaliated on impulse. The punch caught the raider off guard, but the two gunshots that zipped over Charon's head and straight through the raider's caught Charon even more off guard.

Charon shoved the dead raider off his chest and then laid there, just breathing.

He could see Kate's outline, hovering above him, before she quickly knelt down and was digging around in the pouches strapped to her belt.

"Miss Kate," Charon said, gritting his teeth as he held back a groan, "nice shooting."

"Quiet," she snapped. She pulled something out of the largest pouch circling her and gingerly pressed it to his bleeding forehead.

Charon closed his eyes. "Are you going to be all right?" Well, wasn't he the chivalrous one today, he thought, disgusted.

Kate momentarily drew away the cloth she was using to mop up his blood away from his head momentarily, and with his vision clearing up, he could see her hands were shaking. Slowly, Charon drew he gaze up to her face and saw the tears soaking her cheeks, and a distinct coldness in her eyes.

"You've...you've got to do, what you've got to do, right? I..." she paused and took the second of silence to return to dabbing at his forehead. "I knew I'd have to face it someday. I just..."

With extreme patience, even as she was pushing against the growing lump on his forehead, Charon waited for her to finish.

"...I didn't think it'd be so easy. I thought...I thought..."

He scoffed at her. "What did you think was going to happen? Had she killed me, it would have been you she came after next." Charon watched as Kate grabbed a bottle of purified water from another pouch and poured it over the bloodied rag. "I think you know you made the right choice. And this will not be the last time you must make this choice."

"I know," Kate sighed. "I'm sorry, Charon. I shouldn't have left everything to you. I was just...scared—right out of my fucking mind. They don't prepare you for this sort of thing in the vault, you know. Hell," she grumbled, "they don't prepare you for anything at all."

"It is of no consequence."

Kate winced, but Charon pretended to ignore it. If she had a problem with the way he treated his life as of little importance, she could consult his contract. "When you are done with my injury, we should make haste to search the remainder of the building and leave, before others arrive," he suggested, and Kate nodded.

She finished applying a temporary fix to Charon's head wound—which, with the few medical supplies she carried on her at all times, consisted of little more than a stimpak to stop the bleeding and some Med-X to dull the pain and keep the swelling down. She slapped a bandage over it for good measure before standing and extending her hand to him.

He grasped it, and with surprising strength, Kate helped pull him to his feet.

But she didn't let go of his hand. Instead, she wiped the tears off her face with the other and then looked him straight in the eye, a determined look falling over face.

"Charon, next time, I swear—I will _not _falter."

Charon quietly watched as Kate's vault innocence began to crumble.

* * *

  
**Author's Notes:**  
(1) I learned recently that the Capital Wasteland does indeed appear to have winter, or at least did at some point. However, since no further information is available, let's say it doesn't anymore.

(2) Thank you to my lovely beta, Haisley, for both beta'ing and being overall amazing. :D

(3) Chapter title and lyrics from, as always, the song of the same name by The Ink Spots.

(4) Charon is using slugs instead of shells for his shotgun. Why, you might ask? Because he's so damn accurate with that thing in the game, theoretically, you'd think he would be. If you're wondering what the hell the difference is: a shell consists of a bunch of tiny projectiles that scatter before impacting with a target. A slug is one projectile intended to provide rifle-like performance. You'll have more range than with shells, but less range than if you were using an actual rifle.


	4. Losing Touch

**My Echo, My Shadow and Me  
**4: Losing Touch

_Console me in my darkest hour  
Convince me that the truth is always grey  
Caress me in your velvet chair  
Conceal me from the ghost you cast away_

The first thought Charon had when he woke up was that he was a Grade A idiot.

His second thought was of alarm as he wondered where his shotgun was.

But mostly, he was simply thinking about how much of an idiot he was. What was he, fucking fifteen again? Maybe all of those years of bouncing at the Ninth Circle had made him soft. Maybe it had been too long since he'd been close to a woman. Or maybe, just maybe, he was nothing but a fucking idiot. There was giving the girl comfort during a dangerous situation, and then there was _that_. Taking her hand despite his better judgment. Holding her, for far longer than necessary. Too much too soon. The girl was going to get the wrong idea about him, and fast, if he kept this up.

Which he wouldn't.

He wasn't an egg—she couldn't crack his shell open and let the soft insides poor out. And if he was an egg, he was a hardboiled one, and an irradiated one at that. Hard outside, hard inside. Except for that tiny yellow part, right in the middle. But it was that part of him that he kept most closely guarded. He'd been hurt there once before, and he didn't plan on it happening again.

Distance. Emotional distance was what he needed. He had a duty to do and he couldn't let any sort irrational feelings cloud his judgment and prevent him from doing his job. Kate was just a frightened little Vault girl looking for some reassurance—she didn't mean anything by her actions, and Charon didn't need to be reciprocating them. He'd only turn out the fool in the end.

There was opening up, and then there was _Opening Up_. He could talk. He could chat. He could engage Kate in whatever sort of intelligent conversation she so desired, but him opening up to her did not include his feelings. _Should not_, in fact.

With a groan, Charon brushed the bandage wrapped around his head, then let out a small sigh. He sat up, gingerly, and looked around.

Kate's room was filled with an unholy effluence of "collectible" junk. The desk across from the bed was covered in bobbleheads, Nuka-Cola bottles and various children's toys, including multiple chess sets and teddy bears of varying sizes. The sheet metal walls were covered in an odd assortment of posters, all seeming to have come from the museums in the Mall—from a blow-up of Abraham Lincoln to one of the early lunar lander modules to an advertisement for the Vaults, every intact poster Charon could recall from the museums were plastered on the walls. The floor was quite possibly the messiest part of the room, however—it was littered with empty water bottles, wrappers, various broken pencils and crumpled sheets of paper and, both freshly covering and just barely visible underneath everything, blood.

Charon touched his forehead again. He remembered very little after he and Kate had left the Super-Duper Mart, and in fact, he wasn't even sure he made it all the way back here before passing out. How Kate had managed to get him the rest of the way to Megaton, into her house and all the way upstairs into her room was a complete and utter mystery to him. Though, frankly, he wasn't sure he cared—all that mattered was the fact that Kate was alive, and he was still around to help keep her that way. Still around to perform, quite possibly, the one task he was good at.

Stretching his muscles and sighing with relief as his stiff joints cracked (how long had he been in bed, anyway?), Charon sat up, tossed the covers away from his legs and swung them to the ground. As he stared at the sickly flesh on his legs for a few moments longer than was necessary, he realized he was missing something perhaps as important as his weapon: his armor and gear.

Charon suddenly felt both very cold and very naked. What if that bucket of bolts came gliding up the stairs, flamer and saw at the ready? How could he possibly defend himself? More importantly, what had Kate been _thinking_? Stripping a man of his armor was, in Charon's book, the most grievous of sins. A more thorough sweep of the room confirmed that his gear was not in sight, at least, nor readily at hand, should something require his deadly attention.

With an almost-frustrated sigh, Charon pushed himself from the bed, swaying slightly but catching a hand on a nearby shelf and steadying himself. He shuffled from the room, kicking aside the garbage and grabbing the closest thing to a weapon he had noticed in Kate's room, without digging through her file cabinet and desk drawers—an old, rusted letter opener. While it was more likely he wouldn't require it before his gear was returned to him, he figured it was better to err on the side of caution.

At the stairway railing, he paused and then peeked over it, checking for "Wadsworth," and then, for Kate. Failing to see either of them, nor hearing any sounds of them, Charon put his guard up, raising the letter opener before him. Cautiously, he tip-toed down the metal steps, the grating digging into the molted flesh of his feet—had taking his socks off really been necessary?—and pushed against the wall, ducking down to get a better view of the living area as he descended.

Charon shook his head in irritation. The girl was curled up in a chair, passed out, with Charon's gear strewn about the table in front of her, along with a multitude of dirtied rags (most of which were either a very dark brown or pitch black with grime) and bottles of cleaning solution_s_. While he certainly didn't mind the kind gesture, it was his job to be cleaning her gear—not the other way around.

"Wadsworth" was tinkering away in the kitchen, Charon could hear now—dull _chinks_ and _pings_ as the robot washed the dishes and puttered about in the tiny area—and he was relieved that he wouldn't have to put the letter opener to use. It had, after all, been awhile since he'd been forced to use one in combat.

Kate was quietly snoring, drool running from the corner of her mouth all over the red upholstery of the worn-looking chair. Charon, approaching her, dropped the letter opener on the table and frowned. It would be best to carry her upstairs to sleep in her own bed, but that little voice in the back of his head reminded him about the talk he and the voice had about _proximity_.

He opted for waking her instead. "Miss Kate," he grunted. The girl stirred, but did not wake. He repeated himself, louder this time, and nudged Kate's shoulder. This time, she cracked her eyes open and Charon waited until she focused on him.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Hey. You're up." With a lazy, tired movement, Kate sat up in the chair and wiped the drool off her chin and cheek.

Charon, waiting for an explanation, didn't respond. The two locked eyes, until Kate finally gazed down at the table, as if remembering Charon's gear was strewn across it. Her gaze met Charon's and a sheepish grin spread across her face.

"Sorry about that." She scratched the back of her head and yawned. "Your armor and shotgun looked dirty, so I thought I'd clean it for you while you were out. And," she said, "I didn't think you'd be very comfortable sleeping in it."

Nodding, though not pleased, Charon snatched his greaves and slipped them on, followed by the chest piece, gauntlets, gloves and boots. Finally feeling complete—safe—Charon indicated the upstairs with a flick of his head.

"You should go upstairs and rest properly."

Kate, half-asleep again, quickly perked up. "No, no. I need to keep an eye on you. You've got a nasty bump on your forehead, probably a concussion—does your head hurt, by the way? Feeling dizzy, nauseous? Like you're going to pass out—?"

Charon cut her off. "You cannot very well help me if you are asleep, or too exhausted to treat my injuries." Grabbing Kate forcefully by the arm, he lifted her up and steered her to the stairs. "Go. Rest."

She grudgingly complied and when she was gone, Charon took her seat and grabbed his shotgun, finishing what Kate had started. As he worked, cleaning every nook and cranny of his trusted partner, an ache grew in the center of his forehead, then slowly spread outward as whatever meds Kate had him on wore off. Ever the one to follow his instincts, Charon's first was to ignore it. It wasn't impeding him or bothering him (yet). There was no point to wasting valuable medicine on an ache he knew would eventually go away. He'd learned this when he was a boy, and this pain was nothing compared to some of the injuries he'd managed to inflict upon himself.

Besides, he reasoned, if it really got that bad, he could just go outside and sit next to that fucking bomb for a couple minutes. A little radiation was, quite possibly, the best cure for a Ghoul's headache. Hell, for a Ghoul, radiation was the best cure for _every_ physical affliction.

Shotgun cleaned, Charon stood and slung it over his shoulder. He patted his thigh to check that his pistol was secured, then pulled small notepad from a pouch on his waist, jotting down where he was and when he'd left for Kate. With the meds wearing off, Charon was almost looking forward to spending a little time irradiating himself further.

She was the only employer he'd ever taken such liberty with. Anyone else, and he would have been forced to wait until they got up, so that he could ask for a few moments of leave. Waking them up to ask would have been out of the question, and leaving a note would have been downright suicidal. But he knew Kate wouldn't mind, and that she probably wouldn't even be up by the time he returned. He would only be gone a few minutes—just long enough to let the radiation do a little magic on his forehead.

He made a mental note to tell Kate about that little trait that Ghoul's were so "blessed" with, so that next time she could just set him in a puddle for a couple of hours. For injuries as small as a knock on the head, that's all it took. He'd still have a nasty bump, sure, but the cut would be healed and the more bothersome concussion symptoms would be gone. Coordination problems and blurred vision Charon could always deal with, but it was the fucking _headaches_ that got him.

On the other hand, broken bones, gunshot wounds, accidental amputations—those took a little more care, but once everything was cleaned, set or stitched back on, it was right back to the puddle approach. In Underworld, Barrows had an old x-ray machine he used first to see what the problem was (if it was a broken bone) and then to fix it, after he'd reset the bone and put a cast on the afflicted area. Last Charon knew, the good doctor was on a hunt for any other radiation-emitting equipment that had been in practical use before the Great War.

Not to mention his collection of Glowing Ones, though he only used them for healing fellow Ghouls when it suited his current experiment. Any other time and Barrows would tell the Ghouls they would skew the results.

Charon left the house quietly and had to raise his hand above his eyes to block out the afternoon sun. Around him, Megaton was a mess of makeshift ramps and steep, dirt hills with steps dug into them. Occasionally, the steps were lined with the same sheet metal that the rest of the city was constructed of, though it only seemed to be common on the first few and last few steps, as perhaps a helping hand when going up or down. Charon took the quickest way down to the bomb he could see—around the right side of Kate's home and down the trail that descended behind it. On the way down, Charon passed an older resident, bent over one of the numerous large pipes surrounding the city and attempting to fix a leak that was spraying partially filtered water all over the trail.

The man paid Charon no mind and Charon returned the favor. It's not like he was looking for conversation, anyway—hell, as far as he was concerned, the entire town could just ignore him.

He turned left as he reached the bottom of the trail and was sitting on the end of one of the water pipes moments later, untying the laces on his boots and tugging them off. Setting them down on the dry ground, he then pulled his socks off and shoved them inside a boot. He dipped his feet into the water and let out a breath as warmth spread over his feet and a gentle tingling shot up his legs, through his chest, his arms, to the tips of his fingertips and then, finally, coalesced over his forehead. Only a Ghoul could appreciate the warmth of such extreme radiation. Most anyone else and they'd have themselves out of the water and checking their feet for burns and lesions.

Behind him, he could feel the staring eyes of a number of Megaton residents as they drank and ate their morning away. Charon had absolutely no problem ignoring them—what did he care if they found him as detestable as their resident Ghoul, or how strange he must look to them with his feet dipped into highly irradiated water? Of course, in that regard, he was no different than the crazy on the other side of the bomb, knee deep in the water and shouting nonsense about Atom and Atom's Salvation and Atom's Chosen People. What a load of shit, Charon contemptuously thought. And more and more people were "believing" in it everyday. Charon wanted to give the idiots a nice taste of his shotgun. Charon couldn't help the fact that he was a Ghoul, and likewise, nor could Gob, that radiation was almost like a magical cure-all for them—aside from curing their Ghoulism, of course—and that a raider had decided to try and split his head open with a fucking baseball bat.

There was an itching along the cut on his forehead as his skin stitched itself back together. A small injury, it wouldn't take long to heal. It was the growing headache that would keep him with his feet dipped in radioactive water the longest.

The problem was, the longer he sat, the larger a crowd both he and the Church of Atom crazy attracted. Up until now, Charon had blocked all of them out, staring ahead at the water and the bomb, indifferent. But as the crowd continued to grow, Charon found himself slightly interested in what the hell the furor was about.

Of course, as it turned out, it was Charon. The God damned fool from the Church was making a grand speech, and Charon was the subject—the lovely centerpiece.

He decided to tune in.

"Oh, Great and Bountiful Atom, we of the Church today thank you for delivering us yet another of your Holy Children! Those who have been transformed into your image and now live sacred lives in your Eden—the Holy Underworld! We, Adopted Sons and Daughters of Atom, have been graced by not one, but _two_ of His Children! It is a wondrous, holy day, that we shall observe in the coming weeks and months! Atom has surely Blessed us!"

The crazy waded through the water toward Charon, and the Ghoul eyed the man's the legs. Even through the murky water, the damage that had been done through the everyday exposure was obvious—Ghoulification had started, and it would only be a few more months before the idiot ascended or transcended or whatever the hell it was they called it. All Charon knew was that any Church of Atom nut job was not a fellow Ghoul to him, and never would be. Ghoulism was by circumstance, chance, accident—not on purpose or as the result of some sick, unbelievable cult following. Charon wondered how many Atomites had died attempting to become a Ghoul (sorry, one of Atom's _Chosen Children_) and how many had succeeded over the years. However many it had been, this idiot—Confessor Cromwell? Charon could hardly be bothered to remember or care—was about to achieve the Atomite's lifelong goal.

Cromwell knelt as he reached Charon, falling to a knee and hold his hands up as if praising Charon, or asking for forgiveness.

For his sake, and everyone else's, Charon thought, scowling, it had better be forgiveness.

"Oh, Great Son of Atom," Cromwell began, and now down on both knees, inched closer to Charon, "share your wisdom! Your Holy Words! How we lowly Adopted Sons and Daughters can hope to take on your Perfect Form!"

Cromwell's hands came to rest upon Charon's feet as the man bowed to all fours.

"Get the hell away from me," snarled Charon, his arm already slackening to slip his shotgun into his grasp.

"He speaks!"

Charon growled, long, low and irritated. "Don't make me repeat myself," he spat.

Cromwell dropped his head closer to the water and when Charon felt lips on the tops of his feet, it was the final straw. The idiot was lucky Charon had tolerated him this long. With deft movement, Charon had his shotgun unslung from his back and aimed dead center on Cromwell's head.

"Get up," Charon snapped, "and leave me be."

The Confessor returned to a kneeling position, a humbled look upon his face even with the barrel of Charon's shotgun pressed against the skin of his forehead. Headache now in full force, and the radiation only beginning to dull it, Charon was in no mood for anyone's shit, least of all anyone who thought he was some sort of _god_. Cromwell smiled at Charon, brightly, as if the shotgun didn't even exist.

"Won't you come to the service later today and tell your tale, oh Chosen One?"

What sort of fucking fantasy land did this guy live in anyway? Someone's got a gun to your head and you _still continue to bother the living hell out of him_?

"That's it," Charon said, near-tempted to rip Cromwell's head off. "If you don't get the hell away from me in two seconds..."

The crack of the butt of Charon's shotgun against Cromwell's forehead was gratifying, and Cromwell was unconscious immediately, tipping backward into the irradiated water, blood spurting from his nose and drenching the bottom half of his face. Charon would have been more than content to watch the man slowly drown, but two fellow Atomites were in the pool and pulling him out before Charon had even slung his shotgun back over his shoulder. The two didn't meet Charon's gaze as they dragged Cromwell away, though Charon wasn't sure whether to attribute it to fear or "holy reverence."

Fuck, he hated Atomites. They were such an annoyance to Ghouls they weren't even allowed in or near Underworld, especially not after the _last_ time, where one had tried to kidnap Quinn and found himself on the receiving end of Cerberus's flamethrower. Willow shot them on sight. Atomites were worse than bigoted smoothskins in Underworld, and the Ghouls who resided there wouldn't even let Atomite Ghouls in, if one ever managed to make it to their so-called paradise.

Charon scratched under his bandage, watching as chunks of skin flaked away to settle on the water's surface below. With a tug, Charon loosened the bandage, quickly unraveled it and then ran his fingers across his forehead, feeling for a cut or pain from the swollen lump there. The cut appeared to be gone, however, and the lump less swollen and producing no pain as Charon prodded it. As if it was the proverbial cherry on top, his headache had faded and within another minute or two would be completely gone, and Charon wouldn't need to return for another radiation treatment for a few hours.

Dipping his fingers into the water, he scooped up a handful of it and splashed it over his forehead and face, hoping to speed up the process. He was sick of sitting around and staring at the ramshackle buildings and worthless people already. Every single one of them was either a nut or a bigot, and if this was a shining example of what humanity had become—or _still was_, even, though it was difficult for Charon to say not having been born before the Great War—Charon was more than glad to be a cynic. After everything he'd been through, he couldn't believe in the goodness of humanity like Kate did. He no longer saw it—maybe never had.

He yanked his socks and boots back on as soon as his headache was gone and shoved through a small crowd of Atomites huddling a number of feet behind him on his way back up to Kate's home. They shrieked and scattered at his touch before dropping to their knees, hands clapped together and eyes squinted as they murmured what he imagined was some ridiculous praise for having been _blessed_ by Charon's touch.

He would never understand Kate's unyielding desire to help these people—or anyone, for that matter. To Charon, all they were was scum—worthless people who didn't deserve what little they had, himself included.

If a few more bombs suddenly decided to fall and finish the world off, Charon thought it'd be a good thing. End this miserable existence, and with haste.

It was all Charon could do to hope that when Kate realized the futility of it all, she wouldn't be _too _crushed. No matter how naive it was, he hoped she kept at least one shred of hope for the lingering decency in humanity. She was a shining light in the darkness for them all, and it was up to them to drag their crippled bodies to her—not the other way around.

Charon was back inside Kate's home before anyone even realized he was gone.

*

By the time Charon was a quarter of the way done with one of the books he'd grabbed off Kate's shelf (Gone with the Wind, and though Charon couldn't say he'd been enjoying it so far, as with any book, he felt obligated to finish it), Kate was lumbering down the stairs, wiping sleep from her eyes and yawning.

Charon watched Kate as she came downstairs, and continued eying Wadsworth in his peripheral vision as the robot cleaned. It was a wonder he'd managed to read as much as he had with that damned thing hovering about and encroaching on his personal space.

Kate slumped into the chair opposite Charon, still rubbing at her eyes and looking rather bleary. After another yawn, Kate looked at Charon before immediately ordering Wadsworth upstairs. Then, she nodded at Charon, and said, "Head hurting? I've got some more Med-X, if you need it."

"No. I sat outside for awhile."

"Sat outside...?" Kate said, perplexed.

"Ghouls are healed by radiation."

"Oh." She paused, thinking. "So next time, I should just...toss you in a pool of water and wait?"

Charon snorted. "Yes, that would be a viable option."

Kate pulled her legs up into the chair and cradled them to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She stared at a spot on the wall behind Charon's head and her face grew slack, eyes distant and expression unreadable. Charon closed his book and waited for her to return to reality. After awhile, she spoke, hesitantly, as if unsure how the words would sound as they left her mouth.

"After you passed out," she said, her eyes finally focusing on Charon, "and after I finished bandaging your forehead, I threw up. And I...I searched the raiders' bodies, like you'd said we should, before we went in, but I... couldn't stomach it. The thought of it. Searching dead bodies. Killing. Any of it." She sighed. "I never was great around bodies...injuries. I mean, I was the tech assistant, not the God damned nurse!" She shook her head in disgust.

"I think that... that I threw up more times yesterday than ever have in my life. My throat _still_ hurts."

Charon grunted, feeling his responses were limited by both his stoic nature and unfamiliarity with her situation. "Did you at least retrieve what you were sent for?" he said.

Looking down at her feet, over her kneecaps, she sighed again. "Not really. There wasn't anything left... Raiders used up the medicine and ate all the food months ago, probably." She laughed, her voice breaking a little. "Moira was disappointed."

_Moira_, Charon thought with derision. _Lunatic woman. And Kate, doing this favor for her—for what reward?_ But he didn't ask.

"How did you get me back to Megaton?"

Kate rubbed her hands down the sides of her legs before gripping them tighter. "Dragged you back on a makeshift stretcher," she answered, grinning lopsidedly. "Has anyone ever told you how fucking heavy you are, by the way?"

Charon gave Kate a blank look. He'd never had anyone care enough to go through all the work to get him back. Most times, if he was injured, he was either ditched or thrown into the nearest radioactive spot, if his employer considered him valuable enough and knew about the regenerative properties radiation held for Ghouls. A few times he'd even been thrown into irradiated water by employers in the hopes that he would die and they would be rid of the problem. What a nasty surprise they always had coming for them when he was fully healed and now considered his contract with them null and void.

"Well, you are," Kate awkwardly finished after a couple minutes of Charon's lackluster attitude and her bright, round eyes searching for a response. "Just thought you should know."

A silence enveloped the room—even more awkward and colder than before. Suddenly, Kate stood and headed to the door, slipping on her boots and a jacket. "Charon—I'm going up to Moriarty's for a little while," she said, her eyes not meeting his, voice wavering. "Please don't be afraid to leave the house yourself. I'll find you when I need you."

No matter how hard she tried, Kate couldn't hide the tears in her eyes and the hurt in her voice from Charon. He'd spent years upon years reading people—noticing the subtleties in their tone of voice, composure and facial expressions. An upset girl wasn't going to pull one over on him.

Alone and contemplative, Charon rubbed his temple absently with his thumb. He knew she was upset (extremely so), that she wanted him to do something—but he couldn't. Charon was not the sort of man to break the promises he made, least of all to himself. While he could rationalize that Kate was lonely, scared and seeking the closest thing to comfort she has (and if a man she's known for only a few days is whom she considered herself to be closest to, then surely she must be frightened), he could also rationalize that she was his employer, he her employee—there was nothing more between them, nor would there ever be. She was a smoothskin, he was a Ghoul—she would never see anything in him, no matter how much he saw in her or how he felt about her.

He banished the thought that rose up to the forefront of his mind—he felt nothing but remorse for the girl. Cute or no, she could mean nothing more to him beyond being his charge.

Gone with the Wind landed on the coffee table with a thud and sent dust scattering from its pages. Charon watched the dust fall for a moment or two before leaving the house himself.

*

"Well, hey there, stranger! What can I do for you today?"

Charon was almost staggered by how _chipper_ and _exuberant_ the woman he determined to be Moira sounded. She was the spitting image of how he'd imagined her too—dirty coveralls, an odd look about her face and a downright _annoying_ voice. The epitome of _crazy_ in Megaton.

He took a good look around the store, eyeing the assortment of both junk and useful pieces of equipment (though mostly junk). The workbench along the wall was covered in grease and dirty parts, and Moira's hands matched perfectly. By the looks of it, she was constructing some sort of rocket launcher, but the stray teddy bear sitting just to the side of half-assembled weapon was almost enough to make Charon second guess himself.

An irritated-looking bodyguard leaned against the wall near the bench, a Chinese Assault Rifle strapped to his back and a Chinese pistol hanging from his belt. He gave Charon a fleeting look before returning to his staring contest with the opposite wall. Not even a threat, Charon thought. Chinese weaponry was too unreliable.

Moira was talking. Charon decided to listen.

"Say, I just got in this brand new—well, not _brand _new, but it certainly looks nice!—fission battery! If I do say so myself, it's perfect for your everyday technological needs—"

"I don't care."

"Oh? Well maybe a Robobrain brain? They're the perfect accessory for your mantelpiece!"

"I'm not here to buy anything."

"But I fixed up this great looking baseball bat the other day—surely you'd love to play a little ball with your pals?"

"Stop pawning your ridiculous experiments off on Kate."

Moira was perturbed. "What? I'm not sure what you mean...unless you're talking about my extremely important research projects for the upcoming Wasteland Survival Guide!"

He held in a sigh. This was going nowhere fast. "If you need a test subject, or a guinea pig, or a hapless half-wit to perform your dirty work, start looking elsewhere."

"Did I mention how wonderful a research partner Kate has been? She's so willing to help out and is so _thorough_!"

"Moira," Charon bit back _incompetent fool_ and continued through gritted teeth, "you have placed my mistress in danger and as my charge, that is _unacceptable_. Per my contract, I am required to eliminate all threats to my mistress's wellbeing."

"Hm." Moira scratched her chin. "Contract? Does that make you a slave? I've always wondered how that worked—I mean, how do they continue to keep the slaves cooperative? What's the _science_ behind it?"

As Moira babbled about science and brainwashing and slaves, the bodyguard had perked up, watching Charon closely, hand over his pistol. Charon slipped his hand over his own—a shallow threat from the guard, but a rather deadly one from Charon.

"Do not make me repeat myself."

The woman was talking a mile a minute now and turning around to move to her terminal. Growling, Charon snatched his free hand out and grabbed her arm, though Moira hardly noticed besides stopping and turning to talk at him. But it was the final straw for the bodyguard, pistol now drawn and aimed for Charon's head as he approached, slowly. Smart man—he knew not to fuck around.

"Put the gun down," Charon snapped.

"Get your rotting hand off of her," the guard snapped back.

Charon narrowed his eyes. "You are making an unwise decision."

"I'm doing my job."

"As am I, and you are currently interrupting my sworn duty."

The guard was within arms length of Charon. He held his pistol tighter. "I don't want to shoot you."

"Empty threat. You weren't planning to."

Smiling, the guard shrugged and said, "Good call," before spinning his pistol in his hands and lunging at Charon. In quick succession, Charon released Moira and caught the guard's wrist, twisting it and forcing the pistol from his grip. The guard swung a punch with his free hand but Charon was expecting it, ducking and using the guard's forward momentum to fling the man over his back and onto the floor. The guard let out a groan of pain, clutching at his shoulder. Charon pressed down onto the man's chest, a warning to not get up, and turned back toward Moira.

For once, she was speechless, staring at her hired help incredulously.

"Moira," Charon said, "if you dare place Kate in danger again, this is far from my worst. And next time," he pushed hard onto the guard's chest, forcing a breathy whine from his throat, "it'll be _you_."

Charon left Craterside Supply to the smell of the guard's warm piss and with no intention of ever returning.  


* * *

**Author's Notes:**

(1) A big thanks to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who added ESM to their Favorites/Story Alerts. Makes a girl happy. :)

(2) Chapter title and lyrics from The Killers song of the same name.

(3) A HUGE GINORMOUS THANKS to sparrowinsky, my lovely beta; and Kytten, who also beta'ed this chapter. You're both awesome.

(4) "Tales From the Wasteland: Thistle" was a rather large bump on the head for me to remember that Ghouls are healed by radiation. Thanks, SickleYield. :)

(5) 04/08/2009: Thanks to AliBlack for pointing out an error concerning Gone with the Wind.


	5. Everything Will Be All Right

**My Echo, My Shadow and Me**

5: Everything Will Be Alright

_I believe in you and me  
I'm coming to find you  
If it takes me all night  
Wrong until you make it right_

Charon had been back at Kate's home for nearly an hour before she returned, drunk as hell and stumbling through the door with no regard for whether she tripped over the threshold or made it through the doorway in one piece.

As soon as Kate had made it inside, Charon was standing and waiting to catch her wherever she decided to stumble and fall to. This wasn't his first foray with drunks, after all, and Ahzrukhal _had_ considered some customers worth Charon's time to keep upright and buying more drinks.

"Charon," she slurred. With a hiccup, she stumbled over to him, nearly tripping over a stray cup. Upon reaching him, she clutched to his arm, burying her face in his chest. "Have I ever told you how much I... how much I..." Without warning, Kate burst into tears—immediately sobbing uncontrollably into Charon's chest.

Charon was stiff, his talk with himself about _proximity _once again at the forefront of his mind. And it wasn't like _he_ knew how to deal with upset women. It's not like he'd had a lot experience in that area. Hell, he hardly even _understood_ women half the time. What the hell did he know about making them feel better when he wasn't even sure why they were upset in the first place?

Amidst sobs, tears and wiping her snot all over Charon's armor, Kate blabbered to Charon about whatever was wrong with her. And he stood, and listened, even as Kate wrapped her arms around him and gave him a death squeeze, and even though he had no fucking clue what she was saying. Occasionally, he'd hear "Dad" and "how could I" and "so glad" but as best as Charon could tell, it was nothing but incoherent blubbering from an upset, drunk girl.

A few minutes passed, and Kate finally exhausted herself, her sobbing turning into short, hiccuping breaths, her tears slowing until all that was left were the trails still on her cheeks. With a short laugh, she pulled away from Charon, just slightly, and wiped away her tears and snot, brushing the fluids onto her pants.

"Charon," she mumbled. "Charon—thanks. Thanks for being here... when I needed you," she slurred. "When I needed you the most."

Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

Startled, Charon stared at Kate, confusion settling over his features.

She moved in for another kiss, this time on his lips, and Charon turned his head. Kate missed, giggling as she caught his chin.

Charon wouldn't deny he liked the attention. That he liked the way it stirred a heat in his groin and the way it made him crave for the touch of a woman—to _touch_ a woman. But he wouldn't indulge in her drunken state, her vulnerability. He was better than that. He knew he was.

She had been alone in the Wastes—something no one should ever be in such a Godforsaken place. She had been frightened—by more things than Charon could possibly imagine. She _was_ upset—she killed another human being for the first time, and up until a few hours ago, she had been too busy to let the information process—to let it sink in. She was looking for comfort—for someone to say, "It's okay. It'll be all right." Problem was, she was looking in the wrong place and for the wrong kind of attention. She was drunk, not thinking straight, and she was looking for a little "love" and "affection" to make her pain go away. She was looking for any sort of help she could get, if the booze was any indication.

Charon was completely sober. He understood these things—her reasons, what she wanted and why, but he wouldn't indulge. They would both regret it, and her especially. So he would tell her what she wanted to hear, even if he refused to give her what she thought she wanted. Even if he wanted it too. Even if his body was aching for her.

She pressed against him, kissing along his jaw, and he could feel his arousal straining against his armor. He had to stop this now, before it went any farther—while he was sober, at least.

He cursed at himself. Cursed his lack of self-control, his weakness for a pretty girl in obvious pain. He knew he would do it. He knew he would give in, but he couldn't—wouldn't—make that decision sober. In the morning, they could both blame it on a drunken mistake, and brush it off as nothing.

As they should. There was nothing between them. There _would_ be nothing between them. Kate had no real interest in him outside of her alcohol-induced stupor, even if Charon was feeling a real interest in her (no matter that he'd known the girl for only about a week and his feelings were nothing more than superficial at this point).

"Everything will be all right. You're not alone in this." He didn't know what "this" was, he just remembered a mention of it, in her babbling. Remembered Three Dog yakking about "the Lone Wanderer looking for James, her father," and he figured "this" had something to do with that. So he said it, and it seemed to soothe her enough.

She bowed her head, sighing. "Thank you, Charon." Without another word, she turned from Charon and went upstairs, looking once again as if she could burst into tears at any moment.

Charon shook his head and cursed again.

Before he could change his mind, Charon headed into the kitchen and grabbed Kate's meager alcohol supply from behind the stacks of blood packs in the fridge. He opened the first bottle he grabbed immediately and downed it in one swallow. The next two he grabbed and took with him into the living room. He chugged the second bottle down as soon as he sat down in one of the armchairs before sipping from the third for a couple minutes as he allowed the alcohol to take its effects.

His mind went hazy and numb within minutes. His vision was blurry and he was seeing every object in twos and threes. God, it had been awhile since he'd been drunk. Years, even, since he'd snuck a few drinks while Ahzrukhal was sleeping and he simply couldn't give a damn whether someone broke in and started raiding Ahzrukhal's stash. He'd deal with them _after_ he got shitfaced. He even remembered a few times he'd simply stood in the corner of the bar, tipsy, and slipping drinks while Ahzrukhal wasn't looking. It was more than amazing that Ahzrukhal never caught him.

By the time Charon was halfway through his third bottle, he decided he was ready. Resolve in a bottle. How convenient.

He stood from the chair, steadying himself with outstretched arms. Carefully, he moved to the stairs and stumbled up them, somehow managing not to spill his alcohol all over the place. At the top of the stairs he paused and took another swig. Reaching Kate's door, finally, he stopped outside of it and simply listened. Kate was still awake—wide awake, by the sounds of her constant shifting under her covers.

Charon leaned against the door frame, forehead on his arm and the remainder of his drink swinging gently in his fingers. He let out a breath and resigned himself for what he was going to do. It was stupid. Selfish. _Wrong_. But damn it, he was too drunk to care, and that was the _point_.

She wanted it. He wanted it. The only problem was she was drunk and didn't know any better, and he was drunk and _still_ knew better.

Somehow, he managed to rationalize this to himself before opening Kate's door. Somehow, he chalked it up to _duty—_how he was required to provide Kate with companionship and to keep her safe from all harm. Kate was lonely, therefore, she required Charon's company. Kate was upset, depressed, and therefore, a danger to herself (or at least her own psyche), and so required Charon's protection. (Somehow, he managed to do all of this through the fog of his mind and the warm, numbing effect of the alcohol.)

Yeah. Good enough.

He pushed away from the door frame, wobbling slightly and nearly falling back on his ass, before he slammed back the rest of Kate's vodka. He dropped the empty bottle to the floor where it landed with a _clunk_ and cracked. Without further ado, Charon pushed open Kate's door and stepped into her room, letting the thin metal sheet fall closed behind him.

Kate was sitting up in her bed, probably in response to Charon dropping the glass liquor bottle outside her door. "Charon?" she murmured, squinting at him (all three of him, if he were to guess). "What're you...?"

In response, Charon carefully unbuckled the straps on his gauntlets and tossed them onto Kate's cluttered desk. He moved onto his upper half (to his _cuirass_, but Charon hated how medieval that sounded), loosening the straps across his chest until he could slide it off. It went onto the desk on top of his gauntlets and managed to knock a few odds and ends off in the process (though Kate had her eyes stuck on Charon and didn't seem to notice).

Standing before her, now down to his dark, long-sleeved shirt, greaves and boots, Charon felt more than naked enough, but he knew he'd have to take his boots off, at least, and his greaves, simply so he could get his pants far enough down—oh _fuck it_, he thought, derisively. No way around it—every bit of armor on him would have to go, for the simple act of sex to be even remotely comfortable.

_God_, how could he even be thinking about this? But he was too far gone now to change his mind.

He stood before Kate, completely unfettered, every piece of his armor tossed aside. Holding his arms out wide, offering and displaying himself to her, he said, "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Kate stared at him for another moment longer, a blank look on her face, before she blinked and came back to herself. She nodded, a drunken half-smile creasing her face, and then sprang up from the bed and launched herself at Charon.

Both of them very drunk, Kate's aim was a little to the left and Charon was nearly too unsteady to catch her before she slammed into one of the filing cabinets. He managed it, just in time, and brought Kate against him—_all_ of him—as he leaned carefully against the desk until his head stopped spinning. When he was finally focused enough to see only one, unmoving Kate against his chest, he slipped his hands down her back and grabbed the edge of her sweat-stained t-shirt, easily lifting it up and over her head, then tossing it blithely to the side. Her bra quickly joined her t-shirt on the floor, and then Charon was grabbing Kate by the waist and slamming her into the nearest wall.

She cried out, first in surprise and pain, before Charon had his knee firmly pressed between her thighs, digging in _just_ the right spot, and had his mouth over her breasts. Little noises of pleasure escaped her lips (it was _cute_, Charon thought, though he wasn't sure whether that was him or the alcohol speaking).

At some point, Kate wrapped a leg around Charon's waist for support and Charon took it as a cue to press her harder into the wall, hold her ass tighter with his left hand and let his right do a little exploring. The girl whimpered at him, mumbling something about tetanus but Charon simply grinned at her and let his hand do the talking. Kate shut right up about whatever worries she had concerning her walls and let a little moaning and heavy breathing escape her lips instead, pushing hard and eagerly against Charon's delving fingers.

Charon started biting at her neck and collarbone, thrusting his fingers further inside her and working his thumb over her sweet spot in perfect rhythm. It didn't take long until Kate let out the most satisfying sound Charon had heard in a long, long time, and then, after a few moments of panting, Kate's eyes rolled back in sheer pleasure and she went lax against him.

Charon considered ending it, right then and there, as he pulled her away from the wall and simply held her, himself panting and exhilarated. The thought remained at the forefront of his mind, even as Kate squirmed in his arms, looking for more.

His head swam and he closed his eyes, blocking out everything. The rational part of him said he should stop. Demanded it, in fact. But the man in him was demanding as well—in a stronger, much louder voice that seemed to be speaking for Charon's entire body. He knew he would regret it—had known, still did—but _fuck_ did he need this too. It was selfish. So utterly fucking selfish but he was so _drunk_ he couldn't bring himself to care enough—couldn't bring himself to _stop_.

The thrill of being in charge ran through him, a delectable high, as he tossed Kate down onto the bed and nearly pounced upon her, pinning her arms and legs with his own, and nibbling at her earlobe until she was shrieking at him about it tickling, crying for him to stop it already. Charon complied, hardly registering the order and moving on instinct, down her neck, an alternating trail of kisses and nips until he was sucking on her collarbone (rough, unforgiving) hard enough to leave a mark.

With a quick movement he had Kate's wrists caught in his left hand and pinned to the bed above her head, while the right hand, once again, explored, wandered her body. As his fingers dipped below her waistline, she made a breathy, strangled noise at him, and he paused long enough to stare at her flushed, sweaty face, half-lidded eyes and slightly parted mouth.

"Charon," she groaned, and squeezed her legs together beneath him. He ground his arousal into her in return, and she let out a needy whimper. "Just—just get on with it already."

He released her wrists and slipped his head into the crook of her neck, whispering into her, "You know we'll both regret this in the morning."

"I know," she breathed. "I don't care."

"You're too _drunk_ to care."

"So are you."

Charon smirked, pressed a finger to Kate's lips, and murmured, "Quiet, you," before reaching down to free himself from his pants. With a quick repositioning, he was quivering before Kate, him on his knees, her legs draped over his shoulders, and he was dying to slip right into her.

He gave her one last pleading look, to give him the order he knew she wouldn't give. She was as far gone as him.

When the only response he received was, "Aren't you going to take your clothes off...?" he passed the point of no return.

Grunting, Charon slid all the way inside her, taking measured breaths and shaking with the sheer willpower that was keeping him from finishing, right then and there.

It had been too long. Much, _much_ too long. And he was certain that, after this, it would be another long while before he found himself with a woman again. But it was worth it, no matter how selfish, how covetous and lecherous—he didn't give a shit anymore. She was a beautiful woman, had been practically begging for him to do this, and how was any man supposed to say no?

Standing orders, he reminded himself, beginning a slow rhythm and contenting himself with massaging Kate's breasts, eliciting those cute little noises from her again. Standing orders, standing orders, standing orders...

Charon's breathing was labored and his mind was reeling by the time he realized distracting himself with the other, finer aspects of Kate's body were doing no good to stave off the inevitable, as hard as he tried, and as slow and gently as he went. Soon, there was nothing but her legs around his waist, his arms and hands beside her head, his lips crushed against hers and him pounding into her, her throaty moans muffled in a rough kiss.

She was biting what was left of his lips, hard, as her back arched and she pressed up eagerly to meet him, a low, satisfied moan escaping her. Charon pulled his lips away as Kate settled into the bed, relaxing as she simmered in her ecstasy and Charon quickly finished himself off.

Charon came with a hearty groan and a pleased, "_God_, that's it! That's _it_!" and below him, Kate was nothing but smiles.

Sighing, he pulled out and rolled off from Kate as soon as he could form coherent thoughts again. His brain was mush from the alcohol and the sex, but he remembered well enough that he was a _big guy_ and Kate was a _small girl_ and most people didn't enjoy being crushed. Kate curled into his side and was fast asleep within minutes. For awhile, Charon simply laid in bed with her, satiated, though completely disgusted with himself. The girl was so deeply asleep she didn't notice as he pulled himself up and leaned against the wall, watching her and stroking her hair absently. It was still up in the ponytail she'd put it in earlier, though much messier and ruffled from the sex.

He was reminded of his first time, very suddenly, though Kate and his first lover had been very, very different. From looks to attitude to personality, they shared nothing alike but _Charon_ and this moment—sitting up and watching the girl sleep, wondering what was going to happen when she woke up.

As he watched her, his eyes fell out of focus and the room became a spinning blur. His mind was wandering, thinking back on his first time, the last time, _this time_, how there would—could—never be a next time.

Charon put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning and his nausea to pass. When it finally did, he slid from Kate's side, careful not to disturb her (though she probably wouldn't have woken up if he shot the wall above her head), then picked the blanket up from the floor and tossed it over her. She made a sleepy noise and clutched part of it but otherwise didn't notice Charon had left.

Good, he thought. The less she got used to that, the better.

Piece by piece, he slowly put his armor back on before collecting Kate's shirt and bra (her panties had mysteriously disappeared) and placing them on her desk. He stood in the door frame for longer than necessary, trying to think of anything to stall—anything to keep his mind on _her_ and _off_ from the piece of shit thing he had done.

There were a multitude of words Charon though about using to describe himself and how he was feeling, the least of those being "ashamed" and "disgusting." There was no excuse for what he had done. Selfishness, perhaps his one curse that had developed after his brainwashing. Whenever an opportunity presented itself to him, he took it. He got so little for himself it was hard not to.

But _God damn it_ if he shouldn't have done it. He knew he shouldn't have, but had he done anyway? He knew _very well_ the effect that alcohol had on him—had on _anybody—_and the stern resolution it would give him.

The girl had needed healthy companionship—not some pathetic excuse for a human being as a one night stand.

Charon grabbed the last bottle of alcohol from the fridge before he left Kate's house to wander Megaton, all the while hoping to hell she would be too drunk to remember anything in the morning.

* * *

Charon woke the next morning curled up in one of the armchairs downstairs with a splitting headache and no recollection of when he'd come back and finally passed out. With a hiss, he extricated himself from the chair, his headache flaring as he moved, and stood. As he made his way to Kate's bathroom, he stretched his arms in front of him and then above his head to relieve them of their stiffness, though it helped little. Knowing this, he sought Kate's shower and its slightly irradiated water—Megaton's filtration system couldn't eradicate every bit of radiation, and Charon was more than pleased for that. There were _some_ perks to being a Ghoul, he conceded as he stripped, slipping under the cool spray of the water.

He leaned against the tile behind him, allowing the water to wash over his body as pinpricks of warmth spread along his muscles—complaining from their uncomfortable positioning in the armchair all night, and perhaps from abuse Charon may have caused them while he was wandering Megaton. By that point, he'd been so out of it from the alcohol his rage could have caused him to do any number of things to himself as punishment.

Justifying it as _following orders_ hadn't made it any more _right_, and Charon couldn't help but scorn himself, feeling as if he'd gone against his own morals, no matter how few and inconsequential they sometimes were compared to everything else he'd ever done without a second thought.

Charon ducked his head under the water to ease the pain in his head, resting his palms against the tiles under the shower head and closing his eyes, absorbed in the warmth engulfing him—ironic that the cold water felt more than warm once the radiation started to build up.

"Sonuvabitch." Kate was hurling into the toilet before Charon even realized she had stumbled into the bathroom. The girl, clothed in nothing more than a thin t-shirt and her underwear, draped her arms over the seat and waited patiently for the nausea in her stomach to pass before she attempted to stand.

Charon watched Kate glance at him before dry heaving into the toilet again.

"Bad night, mistress?"

Kate groaned. "You wouldn't believe." She leaned over the toilet bowl in preparation to puke again, but when nothing came out, she sat back on the floor. "What the fuck did I do last night?"

It was less of a _what_ and more of a _who_, Charon thought, and cursed himself all over again. Then, he bit his tongue, hard, before responding over the din of the water, "You got drunk, mistress."

Kate scoffed. "Well, yeah. That much was obvious, Charon." She moaned and clutched her stomach suddenly, dry heaves once again overtaking her. "Did I do anything stupid...?" she continued as soon as the heaving had subsided.

He ground his teeth together. Just some_one_. "No," he said, with the conviction that he was telling her the truth because it had been _his_ stupid decision, not hers. He could have stopped it at any time, but hadn't.

"Thank God," she murmured, her head resting against the porcelain before her. "I don't exactly have a great reputation for doing intelligent things when I'm drunk..."

"Most people don't, mistress," Charon pointed out.

She shrugged and gave Charon a half-hearted smile before gripping the sink and pulling herself to her feet. "I guess I don't really have much prior experience to go on, having been raised in the vault and all," she quietly admitted. "Don't really have much experience with anything, honestly."

"Is that not why you purchased me?" Charon queried, inclining his head to better look at Kate as she stood before the sink, looking at herself carefully in the mirror and grasping the porcelain so hard her knuckles were pure white. He wondered if she was having trouble standing or if she was simply trying to hold still enough to keep the nausea at bay.

Slowly nodding, Kate looked at him through the mirror, and Charon couldn't help but wonder at the thoughts going through her head. She'd already seen him sans-armor that she remembered, but he was curious to hear her thoughts seeing him completely bare before her. He wasn't exactly _pretty_ below the waist (though he'd been told one certain area was _impressive_ more than once), with most of his muscles raw where the skin refused to grow back nowadays. His upper half still remained mostly skin-covered, though his arms had suffered irreparable damage and his face wasn't looking the greatest these days either.

"Well, that," Kate conceded, running a hand back through her hair as she spoke to disentangle it from the elastic band that normally held it in a messy ponytail, "and Ahzrukhal."

Charon stared at Kate impassively. "What would you have done had I not killed my former employer?"

Her gaze went from the mirror to the sink as a blush crept up her cheeks. "I don't know. I didn't even consider it." When her embarrassment had faded, Kate flicked her eyes back to the mirror. Charon shook his head at her and closed his eyes before drenching his head under the spray again.

"You're being rather talkative today," Kate ventured, her voice questioning.

Charon nearly laughed, but remained quiet in response to Kate's observation. He was speaking freely, as she had allowed him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't still be an asshole. There would certainly be _drawbacks_ to allowing Charon to voice his opinion, Kate would quickly realize.

After his lack of response, Kate snorted and said, "Anyone ever told you you're an asshole?" Charon cracked his eyes open and watched as Kate smirked at him and flushed the toilet. The water in the shower ran cold moments later, but Charon chuckled at how little he minded.

Frowning, Kate walked to the bathroom doorway only to stop and glance back at Charon once more. "I'll pick up a shower curtain from Moira, if you'd like," she offered with a small shrug. "I never really thought about the fact that it's not just me anymore."

As she left, Charon heard her mutter darkly under her breath, "But then again, I guess I haven't really thought about a lot of things," before she reached the stairs and returned to her room.

Charon allowed relief to flood him after Kate's departure and he put a hand to his forehead in disbelief. She didn't remember. Not one single thing. He laughed to himself at his fortune. He had wanted her to forget everything that had happened, and she had. Luck, for once, was on his side.

She didn't remember that she had blubbered all about her bad night to him (although he hadn't understood a thing she said throughout most of it). That she wouldn't remember a single thing unless he told her.

Which he wouldn't. It would be for the best if she didn't know. Didn't remember the closeness. Didn't remember how she told him she'd felt the safest she ever had now that he was around, watching her ass (figuratively, and literally).

Most of all, he thought it was best she didn't remember what he had done. How selfish he had been. How he had taken advantage of her. If she was to remember anything, he wanted her to remember the stiff, coldness of being near him when he initially refused her. Nothing else.

He thought she'd find the idea of what they had done repulsive, if she remembered, and so he wouldn't let her. Wouldn't remind her. It would be his secret, no matter how much it hurt him. No matter how much she'd hate him if she found out. He was her bodyguard, her companion, governed by the contract she held, and he would protect her from anything—even from himself, and the knowledge he held, because that was his duty.

Decision made and his muscle aches now gone and headache dulled, Charon turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the two clean towels perched on a nearby shelf. With the utmost care in an attempt to lose as little skin as possible, he dried himself off and then wrapped the towel around his waist. For a moment, he stared at himself in the mirror and tried to imagine how he would look now had he not become a Ghoul. Eventually, he gave up and turned to gather his clothing and armor.

A knock at the door interrupted him, and Kate shouted down the stairs for him to answer it.

By the time Charon was at the door, he could hear Kate's footsteps on the stairs behind him. He gave her a glance as she paused halfway down, and he noticed that she was now clad in a nicer shirt but still lacking pants. When she made no indication that he shouldn't go ahead in answering the door, he opened it.

On the other side stood Gob, sullen-faced with a book in hand.

Charon heard a quiet "oh, shit" from Kate as she realized how incriminating she and Charon's state of dress was, and how, from the deepening frown on his face, Gob was clearly getting the _wrong impression_.

Oh shit indeed.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

(1) Okay, everyone, you may now blame sparrowinsky for this chapter. It wasn't originally like this. Seriously. But it will add a lot of tension and angst now (which was Sparrow's plan all along!).

(2) Chapter title and lyrics from The Killers song of the same name.

(3) The Ghouls are lucky that the Fallout universe is based on 50's Science!, else the poor guys would be very much lacking in the testicle department (and therefore have no sex drive). As it stands, they get to have all the red hot lovin' they want.

(4) Both sparrowinsky and cyprith have beta'd this chapter at various points, so I thank them. (Even if on their first time through they only wanted to read the porn. :P)


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